24 Hours
by Karel
Summary: Sequel to Mouse Trap. Stark returns and she's not happy.


[   
  


24 Hours   
  


He that hath a wife and children 

Hath given hostages to fortune.   
  


Francis Bacon   
  
  
  


The title and quote are from a book by Greg Iles. This is a PG story about Lucas and Bridger and how evil uses people.   
  


It's a sequel to Mouse Trap and it may be some what confusing if you have not read that story.   
  


Many thanks to Margaret and Melissa for their help.   
  
  
  


The bar was nearly deserted, which is what she had hoped for. She had planned and waited for this one moment for several months, checking every detail. The whole plan rested on this meeting and things had to go her way. While it galled her to have to depend on someone else, she wanted Bridger to blame the crime on someone else until the end.   
  


Marilyn smoothed her hair with one hand, and shuffled through the smokey room to the bar, head down, trying to look upset. She hitched her hip on the bar stool and pushed against the wooden bar to settle herself into position. Ordering a beer from the bartender, she pulled a handkerchief from her pocketbook to wipe her eyes. Casually, she glanced down to the other end of the bar but the man sitting there hadn't noticed her yet. Damn, she thought. This was going to take awhile.   
  


Sniffing a few times, she took a mouthful of the beer, and let it slide down her throat and resisted the urge to cough. It wasn't champagne, her preferred drink.   
  


"Everything all right, lady?" the bartender asked, still standing in front of her.   
  


Time for an Academy Award performance, she thought to herself. "Yes - no - I mean ..."she started, hesitated and then went on, voice full of emotion. "You see, it's the 10th anniversary of my son's death and it's the end of a very difficult day." Taking another sip of the beer, she waited for the million dollar question.   
  


The friendly bartender was more than happy to oblige her. "I'm mighty sorry to hear that. How did he die?"   
  


"He was a sailor aboard the USS Gore and died when they were attacked in the South Pacific." She wiped her eyes and sniffed a little for effect. He was only 20, just a baby really."   
  


There was a rustle of cloth next to her and the heavy smell of whiskey. "Was that during Bridger's command?" The man from the end of the table had moved to sit next to her. He wore old clothes, dirty and ragged, as if he didn't care of his appearance. His blood shot eyes stared at her. "That's how I lost my boy, and my whole life too. Because of one man," he explained sadly.   
  


Marilyn struggled to appear as a grieving mother as she turned to console the man but inside a small flame of satisfaction was growing. Got you, she thought.   
  
  
  


*** Two months later   
  
  
  


"That was an excellent meal, Lucas. Thanks so much," Julianna exclaimed happily as Lucas opened the car door for her and she slipped into the passenger seat.   
  


"I'm totally stuffed. The Captain and I found the place right before we shipped out on the new boat."   
  


Lucas pulled out of the parking lot and started off down the road as the couple discussed things that had been going on in their lives since they last met. Shore Leave had lasted one day and Lucas had tried to cram in a full week of activities. Now, they were headed to Julianna's house to say good night. It would be several months until they had the opportunity to see each other again.   
  


Driving down a particularly dark road, in a state of contentment, Lucas was startled to see something lying in the road. He yanked the steering wheel quickly to the right, causing the car to swerve off the road. Shaking, he hit the brake as the car stopped in the long grass.   
  


As headlights shone through the car's back window, indicating a vehicle had pulled up behind them, Lucas turned to his passenger. " Sorry about that," he apologized. "Are you ok?"   
  


Before Julianna could answer, there was a knock on the driver side window. Lucas put down his window, and a petite woman with red hair and glasses leaned in.   
  


"Anybody hurt?" she inquired. "You two were lucky that we didn't crash into you."   
  


Noticing a large shape come up to stand next to the passenger side window, Lucas immediately tensed up. "Um, We're fine. We're late; people are expecting us so we'll be leaving now." He put the car in drive. A blonde women stepped into his headlight beam. Lucas recognized her instantly and a cold feeling of fear washed over him. His first and only thought was, "damn, not again" as the chloroformed soaked cloth was slapped over his nose and he faded into unconsciousness.   
  


******   
  
  
  
  
  


**** 

Groaning, Lucas rolled over, attempting to clear the fog from his brain. He tried to move his arms, only to find them tied, along with his feet. It was dark, and the windows were covered. He was lying on the cold metal floor of a moving vehicle."Julianna?" he called out weakly; but there was no response. Rolling over a few times, he found nothing and hoped that Julianna had been abandoned, not.... He let go of that train of thought, afraid of where it was leading him. Stark - again. Couldn't that woman just leave them the hell alone? The last time they had met, he had ended up in a jail cell, beaten to a pulp. The Regulator had managed to get him out of that one. He couldn't help cringing as he wondered what she had planned this time. Last time, he had been bait to lure the Captain in for Stark's revenge, but what if she had been suitably pissed off when he had managed to escape. Perhaps this time Stark intended to punish him for ruining her plans. It would be just like her, he thought scornfully. Hearing voices from the front of the van, he strained his ears to figure out what was going on.   
  


Up front, Neil Branson heard the captive rolling and banging around in the back and smiled as he looked over to Marilyn sitting in the passenger seat. Not for the first time, he thanked his lucky stars that this wonderful woman had appeared in Rudy's bar that night. After Caroline had passed, he thought he would never find love again. Now, not only had he found another woman that he adored, but she had suffered as he had. Both had lost their sons to the same incompetent Captain, who ran from his ship, leaving his men behind without hope of rescue. Marilyn had dropped into his life, along with a plan that would destroy Bridger and finally allow him to wash away the years of pain and tears since Kyle's death.   
  


"When do we make the first phone call?" Neil asked.   
  


Stark sighed and fixed a brittle smile on her face. "We've been over this before. When we get to the cabin, we'll inform Bridger that we have his son and present our ransom demands. Then we'll make the tape and send that an hour later."   
  


"Oh, yeah, that's right. And we give him the time limit so that he won't have time to alert the police or UEO security." He stopped, trying to remember how Marilyn had said the next part. "Because the Brass has their heads shoved so far up their ass that we'll be in Canada before they know what's happening." He gave a little chuckle at that part. His Marilyn was so smart.   
  


"Believe me, Neil, when he sees the tape, he'll be breaking little kids piggy banks to raise enough money." Stark felt a moment of glee when she pictured the beads of sweat breaking out on poor Nathan's forehead. "Of course, he'll tell his crew but there'll be nothing they can do. Nosy Jonathan Ford." She mumbled the last bit to herself, picturing her former second command. No screw ups this time.   
  


"What was that, sweetie?" Neil inquired as he made a hard right onto the dirt road that led to the cabin.   
  


"Nothing, honey. Thinking of old friends." Marilyn slid her hand across the space between the seats to slowly caress Neil's thigh. "Kyle would be so proud of you," she cooed.   
  


Gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, Neil exclaimed angrily, "I'm finally going to make Bridger pay. I want him to suffer, Marilyn!"   
  


Stark brought her hand up to caress the back of his neck. "He will, honey, he will."   
  


In the back, Lucas had stopped eavesdropping and was busy trying to keep from being bounced around like a sack of potatoes. Not for the first time, he wished he had a normal life, like most seventeen year olds. Even a simple date managed to get screwed up. That brought Julianna back to his mind. God, please let her be all right!   
  


**** 

The bumpy ride came to a sudden end as the van screeched to a halt. Unable to move his hands to grab something Lucas went flying forward. The back doors creaked open and an heavy man hoisted himself into the vehicle. Silently, he untied the teen's feet and pulled him by his shirt collar across the floor and dumped him in the dirt outside. "Get up, kid," he ordered."Marilyn wants you inside quickly. I don't know why, there's no one around for miles to see you." Moving slowly, Lucas took a few moments to examine his surroundings. A run down log cabin stood in a clearing with a small shed, surrounded on three sides by a forest of pine trees. There were no other building in sight. Glaring at the man, who stood watching him, Lucas pushed his body against the van door and struggled to his feet. "It would be nice if you untied my hands!" He glared at the man, who ignored him and grabbed the ropes, pushing the teen forward ahead of him. 

"Now don't go trying to escape, neither. Your father may not pay as much for damaged goods, though I wouldn't mind using you for a little one on one." "Listen, if this is some stupid kidnaping plot, my father won't play along. He may even pay you to keep me for awhile. And good luck getting a hold of my mother! I haven't talked to her in months," Lucas complained bitterly. 

Letting out a snort, Branson said, "I've already talked to your father." 

Lucas stopped short, staring at the man in disbelief. "You've managed to make contact with the esteemed Dr. Wolenczak? Did he fall off his chair laughing? This is the moment he's been waiting for." 

"Not your stepfather, you moron. Captain Bridger, sitting all high and mighty on his boat. You'd think that the UEO would learn from his mistakes."   
  


"Bridger? But he's not my father."   
  


A voice from the cabin caught their attention as Lucas was pushed to the door where Stark was standing. "See, I told you, Neil. He's a smart one and he'll try to fool you to get out of this. A chip off the old block. Bridger lied about your son's death and now Bridger's son will lie to you to save his ass. Why don't you get some firewood? It's going to be a long night." Stark smiled at the teen as Branson left them alone.. "Nice to see you again, Lucas."   
  


"The feeling is NOT mutual, Stark," the teen declared angrily."You failed last time and you'll fail this time. The UEO will be all over this cabin in an hour."   
  


Running her hand across his cheek, Marilyn said softly, "What a big mouth for one so young." The hand quickly slapped him hard on the same cheek, snapping the boy's head sharply to the side. "We'll see what you have to say in 24 hours. I suggest that you spend your time praying that Bridger shows up with the money."   
  


Resisting the temptation to rub his stinging flesh, Lucas spat at Stark and then stood firm to face the woman's wrath.   
  


Wiping the saliva of her face, Stark glared at him. "The Regulator isn't here to save you this time. Before long, you'll be begging me to save you." Turning to Neil, who joined them awkwardly carrying a pile of wood, she said, "Let's get him inside and then go and fetch the video equipment. It's time to start the clock."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


***** 

Captain Bridger stalked onto the Bridge, his mood agitated. For the past couple of hours, he had been disturbed by an unsettled feeling but was unsure of the cause, which upset him. He liked being in control, even if things were going poorly, but when he had no idea what was happening...well, then it was worse.   
  


Shore leave was not due to end for another two hours, so the bridge was relatively quiet. Crew members had started to straggle back but there had been a work duty fixing minor technical difficulties, and certain fanatical department heads who liked their stations to be in perfect running order were present too.   
  


Approaching the Communications Station where O'Neill, the officer on duty, was busy checking his newest modifications, Bridger asked in a low voice, "Any word from Lucas?"   
  


Tim spun around in surprise at the Captain's voice. "No, sir. Should there be?"   
  


With a slight shake of the head, Bridger said, "He said he might make it back early; guess things went really well with Julianna. He was a little nervous about seeing her again in person after communicating over the internex for months."   
  


O'Neill, who had gone back to his work, said distractedly, "Yes, Lucas was very excited this morning. I thought Ford was going to have to tie him down on the shuttle. Damn!" The last was to the wires he was fiddling with as he grabbed a tool and started stripping a wire furiously.   
  


Seeing that the Lieutenant had left him to battle with technology, Bridger murmured, "As you were, sailor" and walked over to his chair to sit in it and stare at the screen. It was ten o'clock and he knew that he should head down to his cabin but he still could not shake the feeling of anxiety. Perhaps a cup of hot chocolate and a visit to Wendy would help.   
  


A beep over at O'Neill's station, accompanied by a "Incoming call, Sir" prompted him to delay his departure.   
  


Waving his hand towards the screen, Bridger requested, "Put it up, O'Neill."   
  


A man, about fifty five years old, appeared on screen. "Captain Bridger," he started out pleasantly. "You don't know me but unfortunately, I know you. You have made my life a living hell for ten years and now I'm going to return the favor." He leaned towards the screen as a wicked smile spread across his face. "I have your son. I stopped his car after he had left Cafe Neena in New Cape Quest and I've stolen him away from you. Just as you took my boy from me. If he's lucky, though, he'll come out of this alive, which is more of a chance then you gave my son." He looked away for a minute, to the side, and then swung back to stare at the seaQuest crew. "I'll be back in touch in an hour. You had better be there." With that, the screen went black.   
  


During the man's speech, all activity on the bridge had ceased and Nathan had risen half out of his chair, frozen in shock. After the call had ended, Nathan sat heavily back in his chair. O'Neill had quietly called for Dr. Smith to come the bridge and then hurried over to the Captain.   
  


"Sir?" he asked worriedly.   
  


"What the hell was that?" Bridger was confused."He can't have my son...so is this someone's idea of a perverted joke?"   
  


Hoping that it was only some weird prank even as sick feeling settled in his stomach, O'Neill said hesitantly, "Or maybe...it has something to do with Lucas?"   
  


***** 3 

As the minutes ticked by, heavy tension hung in the air on the bridge. The Captain sat in his chair, his expression chiseled in stone. His crew moved silently around him, quietly going about their business.   
  


Wendy hung in the background, waiting to see what she could do to help. It was hard to escape from Bridger's mental broadcast. Usually he hid behind thick walls but now waves of emotion poured from him, giving her a headache. She had reached out mentally to Lucas but could not 'feel' anything.   
  
  
  


Over at Tim's station, Jonathan Ford was debating his options. Like the rest, he hoped it was all misunderstanding. Having failed to persuade the Captain to go to his cabin, the Commander was working with O'Neill trying to locate Lucas, with little success. After calling Julianna's house, where there was no answer, there were no other places to look for him.. No one knew exactly what the teen had planned for the day. A call to Tony hadn't helped.   
  


"What was the restaurant the caller mentioned? A Cafe something?" Ford waited a minute as O'Neill replayed the tape. "Call them, give a description, see if they can tell us anything. And call the police."   
  


Giving a nod, O'Neill pressed some buttons and began talking quietly. The Commander walked over to the moon pool where Darwin floated and patted the dolphin on the head. "Any idea what's going on?"   
  


Darwin splashed him, shaking his body in the water with his usual enthusiasm. "Lucas out with girl. Lucas kiss. Ride on roller coaster."   
  


"I hope you're right and Lucas is back here in a few hours ready to play some basketball with you."   
  


"Commander?" Tim's voice floated softly across the bridge and Ford made his way back to the communications station. "The police said that unless we can prove a crime has been committed, they can't do anything for 24 hours, when we can submit a missing persons report." He stopped, reluctant to give the rest of the news, his eyes flickering in Bridger's direction.   
  


"Go on, Lieutenant," Ford urged.   
  


A small sigh escaped as Tim looked directly into Jonathan's eyes. "Lucas and Julianna did eat at the restaurant, arriving about 7:00 and leaving at 8:30. Nothing unusual occurred while they were there. The waiter had no idea where they were headed next."   
  


"Keep trying Lucas' PAL." Ford shrugged his shoulders, a defeated look upon his face. "I don't know what else to do."   
  


Time inched along like a snail. Slowly, the rest of the crew drifted in from shore leave and had to be briefed on the current situation. At precisely two minutes until 11, all work and conversation came to a dead stop. People waited anxiously to see if there would be another call. When the whistle at O'Neill station pierced the air, it was if everyone on the bridge skipped a breath. Body rigid with fear, Bridger nodded to Tim, who flicked the switch and the man who called earlier appeared on the screen. "Captain. A short film for you to watch and then we'll talk. Watch this." A group of people wearing black suits and dresses appeared, their faces out of focus. A woman, dressed all in black with a black hat with black netting covering her face, raised a handkerchief to her eyes. She seemed to be crying but again the camera was out of focus and it was hard to make out her features. A large wooden box laid on the ground next to a shallow hole. Large lights on high poles cast an eerie light on the scene. Lucas, gag stuffed and tied around his mouth, was carried into view by four people, each holding an arm or a leg. The teen was twisting and turning but could not get loose. His eyes widen as the men dangled him over the wooden box and then dropped him in. The Captain gripped his arm rests, watching in horror as the boy struggled to climb out of the box and then Bridger sprang to his feet as the men covered the box with a lid. Dr. Smith came quickly to his side, clutching his arm as the box was pushed into the hole. The rest of the Bridge crew stood helplessly as Loni burst into tears and had to be comforted by Dagwood. Tim and Miguel stood next to Tony, whose face had lost all color.   
  


It was a full blown funeral scene, with the mourners throwing red roses in the hole. Then four men with shovels covered the coffin with dirt. The man then reappeared with a gravestone which he hammered into the ground and the picture closed on a tight shot of the stone. The engraving read 'Lucas Wolenczak, beloved son of the high and mighty Nathan Bridger'.   
  


In shock, it took Nathan's mind a minute to register that the original caller was back on the screen, grinning happily. Anger poured through every vein of Nathan's body but he clamped down on his feelings. If he was going to get Lucas out of this safely, he had to take a step back and think smart. Later, there would be time to take out all the emotions and analyze them but now he had to be in charge.   
  


"What do you want?" There was no point in protesting that Lucas was not his son. He viewed the teen as his responsibility; therefore he would do what ever needed to be done. "Get him out of there and we can talk."   
  


"What I want, Captain, is three million dollars. I know that you have it, so don't tell me you can't raise that kind of money. I've looked at your financial portfolio."   
  


"Let him out. I'll get you the damned money, just get him out of that...that...box!" Bridger's tone was firm and restrained, as his anger simmered just below the surface.   
  


"Relax, Captain. As long as you meet the time limit, he'll be ok. He has 24 hours of air, and a bottle of water. There's a filter taking the carbon dioxide out. In fourteen hours, I'll contact you again to give you directions about where to deliver the money. That gives you ten hours to get to where he is. As long as you don't waste your time by doing something stupid, like contacting the UEO to set up security, you'll have plenty of time to get him out. That's the beauty of this plan, keeping it easy and simple. We'll be out of your life in 24 hours, Captain, if you do your part." He gave a small shrug. "I'm sorry we had to bury him, it'll probably give him some nightmares for awhile but kids bounce back pretty easily. At least Sean managed to forget quick enough..." Pausing, he looked off camera a minute, mouthing 'what' to some unseen person, and then looked back at the camera. "Anyway, I had to have something hanging over your head so you won't use any tricks to stop me. Capture me or hurt me and no one will find the kid. And make sure it's in large, unmarked bills in a black duffel bag," he concluded right before the screen went black.   
  


The crew on the bridge stood frozen, staring dumbly at the screen. Bridger sat for a minute as Wendy silently rubbed his shoulder, and then instantly made up his mind. "Commander, you have the boat." Springing to his feet, he hurried to the clam doors but Ford intercepted him before he could leave the bridge.   
  


"Where are you going, Sir?" Jonathan inquired, grabbing the Captain's arm.   
  


"I think you know, Commander," Bridger answered in a dangerous tone of voice as he looked pointedly at Ford's hand clutching his uniform, restraining him.   
  


"I don't need to remind you that the UEO does not negotiate," said Ford, dropping his hand. He was uncomfortable but felt it was his duty to stop the Captain from rushing off to do something stupid.   
  


"This is personal, Jonathan." Nathan stopped a minute to collect himself, to drive the images of Lucas in the coffin out of his mind. Glancing back at the bridge, he saw everyone staring at them. This time, he grabbed the Commander's arm, pulling him closer, talking in a low, private voice. "Did you see the hat that man was wearing? It was from the USS Gore." He stopped, waiting to see if the Commander knew what he was talking about.   
  


"That was the one that was hit in the South Pacific by the suicide bomber. I remember it vaguely," Ford said.   
  


"That was my command, Jonathan. My first one. It was suppose to be easy duty, paroling neutral waters. Some how, the rubber dingy slipped past the sensors and blew a hole in the side of the ship. I lost 6 sailors that day and nearly lost my own life." Closing his eyes, he saw the twisted, blackened metal and could hear the screaming that haunted him for months after the incident. "I was cleared of wrong doing and was even given a medal for attempting to rescue the trapped victims. Apparently, that man hasn't forgotten and holds a grudge against me for it."   
  


Ford was confused. "But why Lucas? And why does he think he has your son?"   
  


"Guess I'll go find out." Nathan took a few steps, curious to see if Jonathan would stop him again but Ford stood there, staring into space. "Commander?"   
  


"It's happening again." He went on as a confused look crossed the Captain's face. "Lucas was taken again to get you."   
  


This was the last thing that Nathan needed to be reminded of. "Yes," he said simply. "But this time, it's a case of mistaken identity. There's nothing I could have done," he said with more conviction than he really felt. "But it's my responsibility to get him out of this mess." Stepping into the Mag Lev, he looked back, "I'll be in my cabin." and with that, he was gone.   
  


Turning back to the bridge, Ford felt helpless. It was going to be a long wait. 

**** 4   
  


Lucas tried to stay calm, but his breathing was fast and shallow. He knew that he was close to hyperventilating, which would not be good considering his current situation. His knuckles were raw and bloody from banging on the wood, his voice hoarse from screaming. Stomach churning wildly, he was afraid of vomiting the remains of his dinner.   
  


It was dark, unbelievably dark, but he could press the button on his watch for a small sliver of comforting light. The box...he refused to use the word coffin...was wide enough so that he could move his arms and legs from side to side and shift his body but not high enough for him to sit up. He had been told there was oxygen being pumped into the box and he could hear the whirr of the fan taking the carbon dioxide out. His heart was pounding loudly and his throat was so dry he could have drunk the whole bottle of water that had been left for him. He limited himself to just a couple of sips, though, since he didn't know how long he would be there.   
  


Hot tears slipped from the corners of his eyes as he lay in the darkness. Please, Captain, come quickly, he begged silently. Knowing he had to do something or he would go crazy, he started singing softly. "Old MacDonald had a farm...EIEIO...."   
  


**** 

After sending the Bridge officers to their cabins for some rest, Ford also went to his cabin. He knew that no one would be able to sleep but a break from the tension was needed. Taking a few minutes in their own cabins, people would be able to wrestle with their inner emotions privately and come to terms with what was happening. Personally, he felt frustrated because he did not know what he could do to help, besides making sure the seaQuest was safe. He had grown to like and respect the teenager and while their relationship wasn't close, he knew they were friends. Lying on his bed, fully dressed, but for his shoes, his mind went over and over what the man had said, examining the information trying to decide what to do next.   
  


**** 

Bridger had also gone to his cabin. Since he had to wait until morning for the banks to open, he called his accountant to see what kind of cash was on hand and what he could sell quickly to raise the rest. Then he did a computer search for the crew roster of the ill fated USS Gore, sending the list to O'Neill's station with instructions to find the names of the men who had died and locate the whereabouts of their fathers and brothers. Grasping at straws perhaps, but he felt that there was a connection.   
  


Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was already midnight. He felt helpless, unsure what to do next. There was so little to go on. Who ever set this up knew what they were doing. There was nothing to be done except to sit and worry. All he knew that Lucas was laying somewhere in the darkness under a few inches of dirt. If that wasn't hell, it was as close as one could get. Picking up a picture that had been taken that summer, he studied the image of Lucas and himself arm in arm, grinning widely. Closing his eyes, he let happy memories replay as he reminisced about better times.   
  


"Captain?"   
  


The voice coming from his PAL jolted him awake. Rubbing his eyes, he grabbed for the device. "Yes, I'm here." He waited, dreading what the news would be next.   
  


"New Cape Quest police called. They found Lucas' rental car," O'Neill reported crisply.   
  


"I'll be right up." Jumping up, he raced for the bridge. At last, something to work with.   
  


Storming onto the bridge, with Ford and Smith at his heels, Bridger barked, "Give me a report, O'Neill."   
  


O'Neill listened attentively to his headset for a minute and then turned to the waiting audience. "Lucas' rental car was found, no one in sight. When they inspected the car, they found Julianna unconscious locked in the trunk, hands and feet tied and gagged. She was taken to Underwood Memorial hospital."   
  


Moving into action now that he had something to focus on, Bridger started for the doors, talking fast as Ford hurried to keep up with him. "Let the police know I'm on my way and I want to take a look at that car. Then I'll go to the hospital."   
  


Ford nodded. "Good luck, Sir" he called after the captain as he boarded the Mag Lev. He looked quickly at his watch. 5 AM. There was still 3 hours until the bank opened.   
  


Feeling more hopeful, Bridger went to the storage bay where his motorcycle was kept. He still had every intention of paying the money but he wasn't going to relinquish it without a fight.   
  


**** 5 

"Lieutenant Black?" Walking up to the duty desk at the police station, Bridger addressed the uniformed officer who was sitting at the desk talking on the phone.   
  


Slamming the phone down, the officer shuffled some papers, and took a sip from the coffee cup. "You Bridger?" At Bridger's nod, he went on, "Yeah, your ship said you were coming. The car's out back, follow me." Grabbing a large key ring, he headed out the door.   
  


The Captain followed him to a four door black sedan and waited impatiently as the Officer Black unlocked the car door.   
  


"There's some bags in the back. If they belong to your crew member, you'll have to sign a release and you can take them. It was dusted for prints, but being a rental car, it was loaded and we couldn't get any clean ones. I gotta get back inside. Lock it when you're done." With that Black left him alone.   
  


Opening the back door, Bridger slid into the back seat, picking up Lucas' backpack. Opening it, he found a sweatshirt, a map from an amusement park, his personal game unit, a wallet and a copy of the menu where the couple had eaten dinner. He hugged the backpack closely for a minute, almost comforted by it, feeling closer to Lucas than he had in hours. Putting the backpack down, he pulled over a small pink duffle bag that he assumed was Julianna's. Hesitating for a brief second, he unzipped it. It contained a small purse, a picture album, a sweatshirt, a brush and mirror, and a tube a lipstick.   
  


Sighing, he got out of the back seat, dragging the bags and placing them on the ground beside the car. He sat down in the driver's seat, checking the seat and floor with his hand. Then he exited the vehicle, and kneeled down on the ground so he could look under the seat. There! A small piece of white was sticking out from under the floor mat, wedged against the passenger door. Going around the other side, he extracted it carefully as not to rip it.   
  


Opening the folded paper gingerly, he found himself looking at a map of Florida. The Ocala National Forest was circled with ink. Tucking it in his pocket, he went to the back of the car and popped the trunk open but found nothing. Locking up the car, Nathan headed back into the police station.   
  


As he walked by the duty desk, Officer Black asked casually, "Find anything?"   
  


His hand in his pocket curled around the folded map. Decision time. Should he say something about the call to the boat, show him the map, and possibly risk Lucas' life by involving the police? Most kidnappers said don't call the police, but realistically, how many times was this warning ignored? Not ready to put Lucas' life into strangers hands, he decided he had enough resources through the UEO to handle things on his own. He shook his head no.   
  


"We'll keep looking for him. Maybe when the girl wakes up, she'll be able to tell us something." As Bridger moved towards the door, the officer looked at him intently. "If you do hear from him or someone tries to contact you, you will let us know, won't you, Captain?" The tone was friendly but the meaning behind the words was clear.   
  


Bridger simply said, "I'll be in touch," before he left.   
  


**** 

On the way to the hospital, the Captain called the boat to let them know where he was and to tell them about the map.   
  


Ford was suspicious immediately. "Either we're dealing with some really stupid kidnappers or they left it on purpose for you."   
  


Bridger shrugged, even though the other man couldn't see him. "Either way, the end result is the same. I get Lucas out of there and I find out who's responsible for this."   
  
  
  


"There's a lot of ground to cover in Ocala, thousands of acres of land. How will you know where to look? And what if it's an old map, left behind by someone else? It could be a wild goose chase," Jonathan argued.   
  


"Relax, Jonathan. I'm not rushing off there...yet. I won't risk Lucas' life on a map. I'm headed to the hospital. Bridger out."   
  


Since he was not a relative, he was not allowed to go to Julianna's room but the nurse agreed to bring her mother out to see him. He settled in to an arm chair for a few minutes, thinking about the fact that his stomach was empty and he needed to stop for something to eat. This made him think of Lucas, who probably didn't have anything to eat. He wondered if the video was just made for show and the box had actually been dug up. For all he knew, Lucas was in a comfortable house waiting for him.   
  


The nurse returned with Mrs. Wagner in tow and he rose to greet them. Holding out his hand, he introduced himself, "Hello, I'm Nathan Bridger. How is Julianna? Has she told anyone what happened?"   
  


Shaking his hand, Mrs. Wagner answered sadly, "Nice to meet you, Lucas has told us about you. I'm sorry but she hasn't woken up yet. There are a lot of drugs in her system, some sort of cocktail. The Doctors said whoever gave it to her wanted her to be comatose for a few day. Have you found Lucas?"   
  


Disappointed, Bridger shook his head. "No, there's been no sign of Lucas. I was hoping that Julianna might give us a clue to what happened." His watch began to beep, signaling that it was eight o'clock, time for the bank to open. "Please call seaQuest if she should wake up. They'll know how to contact me."   
  


Turning to go, he stopped as Mrs. Wagner called, "I hope you find Lucas. He was such a nice boy."   
  


Flashing her a small smile, the Captain left to go to the bank. As he mounted his motorcycle, the PAL beeped. Grabbing it, he flicked the switch and took off his helmet.   
  


"O'Neill here, Sir. He's calling for you, that man," he said nervously.   
  


"Go ahead." He waited with trepidation.   
  
  
  


"Good morning, Captain. You're late getting to the bank. I noticed that you haven't withdrawn the money yet. Perhaps you really don't want your son back?" The voice on the other end taunted him.   
  


"I'm going there now, you bastard. Where are you? Get Lucas out of the box and I'll pay you double!"   
  


"Oh, no, it's not really about the money, though that will be a nice addition. There's no amount of money that could pay for what you've taken from me. How are you feeling? Did you have a sleepless night thinking about your boy waiting in the darkness, scared and alone? My boy died alone, far away from me. I didn't get the chance to say goodbye, to comfort him." Suddenly, there was silence and then the man said quickly, "I'll call you back in an hour" and the connection went dead.   
  


Bridger had the sudden urge to punch something. Instead, he tightened his grip on the PAL and said, "did you get a trace on that, O'Neill?"   
  


The PAL crackled to life once more. "No, Sir, whoever it is knows communications and managed to bounce the signal off a half dozen satellites."   
  


With a tinge of regret in his voice, Bridger said, "Keep trying. I'm headed for the bank. Patch him through when he calls back. Bridger out."   
  


***   
  


Business was heavy at the bank as the Captain stood shuffling nervously in the long line. He had to access several accounts and cash a few CD's to get enough money. He would take a small loss from withdrawing money early and his accountant claimed to have a massive migraine from what he termed Bridger's 'damned irresponsible money management'. Apparently, the buying- a- rare- piece -of- art story didn't go over well. Yet again, Nathan wondered if he should have called Lucas' parents but going on past experience, it would take more than 24 hours to make contact with them, anyway. Lucas couldn't afford to wait for a break in their lifestyles this time. Glancing at the slow moving line, he lifted his wrist for another quick peak of the time. Why the hell did this nutcase think Lucas was his son? Was there a clue there? He felt as if he was missing something.   
  


It was his turn with the teller and then there were a bunch of papers to sign. The bank didn't have many people walking in and taking out 3 million in cash very often and his request stirred up a little excitement.   
  


Finally, he stood outside on the bank steps with a large black bag filled with the money. The teller had jokingly warned him to watch out for pickpockets. He was wondering what to do next, when his PAL whistled.   
  


"Captain Bridger. Go to Al's garage, it's down the street two blocks from where you're standing. Tell him that your brother reserved a 2018 Ford Bronco, light red, for you to pick up today. Go north on 95 N. I'll call you in another hour with more directions. Come alone. If I find out someone's with you, I'll stop the directions and you'll never see the kid again. I have spotters all around who tell me if you're behaving yourself." The voice was flat and monotone, as if reading from a paper. "Don't take the time to try any funny busy. I know how much time it takes to get from where you are to get here." The line went dead.   
  


Wondering how many people were in on this kidnapping, Bridger studied the people around him suspiciously. With a sigh, he held the bag close, under his arm and headed to the garage. Holding up the PAL, he said quietly, "Jonathan, did you get that?" Without waiting for a reply, he continued, "Have O'Neill cross reference those names from the Gore with Ocala National Forest." Without waiting for any answer, he went in the talk to Al.   
  


*** 

The dark was closing in, suffocating him. Lethargy had spread across his body, into his brain. He was tired, too tired to sleep but he kept telling himself to wake up from this awful nightmare. Slowly, he tried to move his limbs, carefully, in an effort to stop the pins and needles sensations pricking his cramping muscles. He wondered what it felt like to suffocate.   
  


**** 

By ten o'clock, Bridger had finally left the city limits. In another few minutes, the man would call again. There was little comfort in knowing that seaQuest could hear every word. He still felt alone, powerless. He was a pawn in this game and he had no idea how to take the upper hand. The money meant nothing to him. He only hoped that both of them would make it out of this alive.   
  


Three more times over the next three hours, the directions came over the PAL. Knees aching and back stiff, he stretched, relieving the tension in his shoulders. Sipping at his coffee cup, he examined the Florida map in one hand, deciding that he was definitely headed to the Ocala Forest. Ford had said he would have a security team move inland for back up.   
  


Red lights in the mirror caught his attention. Two police cars were behind him. Checking his speed, he saw that he was within the speed limit. Damn! Pulling over, he opened his car door.   
  


Five officers surrounded the car. Officer Black grabbed him by the arm and swung him around, plastering him against the car. "Spread em," came the order as the officer did a pat down.   
  


Bridger yelled in protest. "Hey, what's this about. I have to get back to my car."   
  


"Where's the boy?" Black demanded. "What did you do with him?"   
  


"I don't have him! I'm taking the money to the kidnappers now! Get out of here!" Enraged, Bridger found himself screaming at the officers. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed his anger, trying to talk in a reasonable tone. "What makes you think I'm involved?"   
  


Black looked at him hard, debating whether to believe him or haul him in for questioning. "You haven't been entirely truthful with us, Captain. The caller told us you had planned this all and you were fleeing from the scene. We found the map and left it for you, but you didn't turn it in. "   
  


"Why? Why would I do that? Why take my own money?"   
  


The officer looked at him suspiciously at this question. "It's a plot between you and the boy to extort money from his parents. You're going to ask them for the money back that you gave up to save the boy. After all, this kid isn't even your own son and yet, you're going through all this running for him. It's very fishy to me."   
  


"That's incredibly stupid! Are you even listening to yourself? Who was the caller?" The beep of the PAL sounded inside the rental car. "Damn! I don't have time for this. That's the kidnapper - he's feeding me directions. Call Commander Ford on seaQuest." Running to the car, he called back, "He'll tell you the whole story."   
  


The officers looked back at Lieutenant Black for orders. Waving at them to come back, he had a sinking feeling that he had made a big mistake.   
  


Anxiously, Bridger seized the PAL. "I'm here, I'm here!"   
  


"What are you doing, Bridger? Having a bit of lunch or taking a shopping break? Your son will be so pleased to know that his life means so much to you."   
  


"I had to use the toilet," the Captain said as an explanation. He scanned the area around him, hoping that there was no one watching. How was he going to explain the cops still sitting behind him?   
  


"Ok, it's one o'clock. In fifteen miles, you'll be right outside of Ocala. Since I'm such a nice guy, stop at Wildhorse Tavern and have a bite to eat. Becky will have an envelope for you with directions to my cabin. Be here by 2 o'clock or the kid will be panther bait."   
  


Before the other man could hang up, Bridger begged, "Please... dig up the box and let Lucas out. I've got the money. You can have it. I'll leave it in the car at the tavern. Bring the boy there."   
  


There was the sound of hushed voices arguing in the background and then the man's voice came back on. "No deal, Captain. After I have the money, I'll show you where the boy is. I'm not giving you the chance to do something stupid or have the police close in and arrest me."   
  


"No, listen..." Bridger tried to argue but it was useless. He hit the gas and tore off down the road.   
  


***** 

Sitting in the captain's chair, Ford had his head back against the headrest, eyes closed. He was someplace else, on the beach as the warm rays of sun caressed his body. He could feel the cold, icy margarita sliding down his throat.   
  


"Commander? Commander...."   
  


O'Neill's voice broke into his fantasy world and he awoke with a start. "Huh?" Not a good sign, Jonathan, he chided himself, almost falling asleep on the bridge. "Yes?" he answered, trying to pull himself together.   
  


"I ran the cross reference that Bridger wanted and there are three families that lost sons on the Gore who own property in Ocala National Forest." He glanced at the list in his hand. "Um, Ryan, Branson, and Jackson. Should we call the Captain?"   
  


Checking his watch, Ford saw that it was 1:30. That meant the Bridger was almost at the meeting spot. Re-energized, the Commander sprang out of the chair. "No. Assemble three teams, and get the UEO helicopter to come pick us up. We can make it there in an hour but we'll have to investigate each location ."   
  


**** 

Panic was starting to set in. They weren't coming, he thought, almost hysterical. Something had happened, nobody really cared, no one really liked him anyway. Maybe his father paid the kidnappers to keep him. Maybe Stark had killed the Captain and would leave him here to rot. Millions of thoughts roared through his head, each one worse than the other. Worse of all, he had drank that water to fill his empty stomach and now he had to pee.   
  


***   
  


Sand and dust swirled around the car as Bridger drove carefully down the dirt road, watching for potholes or branches in the road, which wasn't more than a path really. Houses were far and few between. The perfect place to escape in overpopulated Florida. The road ended in a clearing occupied by a small house with a shed out in back. A white van and a cherry red convertible were parked near the shed.   
  


Taking a deep breath, Nathan let it out, trying to analyze what would happen in the next hour. At this point, working to anticipate the kidnapper's next move was his only advantage. The best scenario would be that the kidnapper would tell him where Lucas was, take the money and leave or allow them to leave. The worst scenario - well, he didn't want to think about that. He thought it very unlikely that the kidnapper would allow them to leave immediately, as they could contact the police as soon as they were safe. Maybe they would be locked in or tied up as the kidnapper made his way to safety. The biggest concern was what kind of shape would Lucas be in, emotionally and medically.   
  


The front door opened, and the kidnapper emerged, gun in hand aimed at the car. Showtime, Nathan thought. Time to find out what this whole mess was about. Popping the car door open, he grabbed the duffle bag, and stood outside the car with his hands up. For a moment, he had an irrational thought to attack the man and take the gun, but this was quickly rejected.   
  


"I'm here. I've got the money. Let me take the boy and go," Bridger stated bluntly.   
  


"Not so fast, Captain. Aren't you at all curious?" The man gave him an icy glare. "Or are you too afraid to hear why your son had to suffer for your actions."   
  


"For the last time, he's not..." and then he stopped. This was no time to argue. "Yes, I'll listen. Get me a shovel, show me where Lucas is and tell me why you did this."   
  


This seemed to please the man, who walked to the shed with Bridger at his heels.   
  


Leaning against the shed was a shovel, which Nathan grabbed as the man walked around the house to the other side where the gravestone still stood. A cold chill ran up the Captain's spine as he studied the gravestone. Eyeing the gun the other man held, he wondered if there was a gravestone nearby with his own name on it.   
  


As if he had read the Captain's thoughts, the man gave him a cold smile and commented,"Relax, Bridger, no one's going to die today." He settled down on the ground as if he was watching a play or a sporting event.   
  


Pushing the shovel head through the dirt, it hit something hard as relief flooded through Nathan's body, making him weak. Up to this point, he still held onto to the hope that Lucas was sitting inside comfortably, waiting for his arrival. Now the reality hit him hard and he quickly scooped the dirt up and threw it on the grass along side of him.   
  


"I'm sorry we had to do this to the kid but we...I... had to do something to ensure your cooperation. I really didn't want to see the boy hurt." The man almost sounded apologetic.   
  


"I know this has something to do with the Gore, because of your hat," Bridger started, keeping his voice in a mild, conversational tone.   
  


"My boy... he was Kyle Branson. He was under your command on the Gore and he died. You probably don't remember him but you killed him." Mr. Branson's voice was full of anger mixed with sadness.   
  


Hesitating for the slightest moment, Bridger tried to keep his expression neutral as he continued to dig. He hadn't thought of the Gore for a long while but the laughing face of Kyle Branson flashed in his memory. "I remember Kyle. I'm sorry, Mr. Branson, that he died but I was cleared of any wrong doing in that incident." He concentrated on the wooden lid that was slowly appearing as he cleared away the dirt. Hold on, Lucas, I'm right here.   
  


"Do you hear his screams at night, Bridger? I do. I still wonder if he felt much pain, if he knew death was coming."   
  


Nathan finished clearing off the lid and knelt down next to shallow hole. Grabbing the edge of the lid, he pulled upward, but found it was too heavy to lift himself. Stopping briefly, he gave Mr. Branson a hard, serious look. "I'm in the military, Branson, I've seen many men and women die and every single one haunts me every day of my life. Now, could you please help me?" he asked, indicating the lid. "Please," he pleaded, hating to ask for help from this bastard but knowing he could not free Lucas himself.   
  


Branson pushed himself off the ground, moved to the hole and bent down, grasping the edge of the lid. "One, two, three...now," he counted and then groaned heavily as they lifted the heavy wood off the box.   
  


Moving the top upward, Bridger, with Branson's help swung it to the side onto the grass. Preparing himself for what he might find, he turned back to the box. His knees turned to jelly as he saw the teen lying there, curled in a ball, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. Lucas' eyes were closed and the Captain reached forward to touch the side of his neck. Dizzy with relief, he smiled when he felt the boy's pulse throb. Hooking his arm under the boy's arms, he scooped the teen up, pulling him out. Awkwardly, since he was still kneeling, he maneuvered the teen's body till Lucas was lying on the grass. "Lucas? Wake up, Lucas." Shaking the boy, he started to worry again when the boy was still unresponsive.   
  


Slowly, the boy's eyes cracked open, as he inhaled the fresh oxygen to relieve his aching lungs. Finally, his eyes focused on the Captain and then widened. "No! Stark! Get away, go away now. Stark" His voice was raspy, not more than a whisper, as he weakly attempted to push Bridger away.   
  


Frightened by the boy's panic, Bridger tried to calm him, rubbing his arms soothingly. "You're safe now, I've got you, everything's going to be fine."   
  


"No, Nathan, I highly doubt that everything will be 'fine'."   
  


He recognized that voice. It was one that he had hoped never to hear again. Bridger cursed softly to himself, gave the teen a pat, and stood, turning to face his old nemesis.   
  


"Marilyn. I should have known."   
  


"But that's the beauty of the plan, Nathan. There's no way you would have known,"Stark smiled at him happily, the gun she was holding tightly aimed at Lucas lying on the ground.   
  


Confused, Branson went to Stark's side. "We have the money, what are you waiting for, Marilyn." He took a couple of step towards the car. "Let's go, sweetie." He had grown tired of the game, now that he had met his enemy face to face. Bridger wasn't a faceless name anymore, a target for his hatred. It was sort of a let down, after all this time and he wanted to end it, to go elsewhere so he could examine these new emotions.   
  
  
  
  
  


All the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place for Bridger. "Getting others to do your dirty work, Marilyn?" He asked mildly.   
  


"Anything to get the job done. That's what you taught me." Stark was smug, happy to be in control of the situation. It had been difficult depending on Branson, leading him on, letting think he was the master of the game but now, she would have her revenge.   
  


"Marilyn? What's going on here? Do you know Bridger?" Branson wore a frown, baffled by this change in plans. "I want to get out of here before the police come."   
  


"Oh, Neil, it's going to be fine. The police aren't coming. They're down in New Cape Quest, checking the Captain's house." She had been amazed how easily she had manipulated everyone, like pawns in chess. "I'm afraid the UEO won't be too happy when they find that their finest Captain is about to be brought up on murder charges."   
  


A groan from Lucas made Bridger look down to see the boy sitting up, holding his head. Forgetting about Stark for a minute, Nathan leaned down, taking one of the boy's hands into his own. The fingers and knuckles were raw and bleeding.   
  


The teen's face flushed with embarrassment. "I, um, wet my pants," he whispered. "I had to drink the water because I was so hungry." He blinked several times, the bright sun blinding after the darkness. His body ached, his fingers were stiff and sore, but the air never tasted so sweet and he had never been so happy to see the Captain's face.   
  


"It's all right, it happens. As long as you're still breathing. Do you think you can run?"   
  


Shaking his head, Lucas stretched his legs out, flexing his feet. "No. I've got cramps the size of grapefruits," he answered weakly, pain and tiredness lacing his voice.   
  


"Just lay back and be quiet, no matter what happens. I have to get you out of this." Ruffling the boy's hair, he rose to face his enemy.   
  
  
  


"So you're the mysterious caller. Does he know about you? That you were really a Captain for the military?" Raising an eyebrow, Bridger looked between Branson and Stark. "Branson, you and I have more in common than you think. What did Marilyn tell you? What did she offer you to do this?" He felt a small spark of satisfaction as Branson took a step away from Stark, staring at her.   
  


The crack of the gun firing surprised everyone and Bridger felt a sharp stab of pain in his thigh, falling to the ground. His hands clawed at the wound as blood flowed through his fingers as he groaned.   
  


"Captain!" Lucas exclaimed, stunned. He crawled the short distance to where Bridger was laying. Seeing the blood, he quickly took off his shirt and, after pushing Bridger's hands away, tied it tightly around the thigh in an attempt to stop the bleeding. "Damn it, Stark! Why can't you just leave him the hell alone! The teen tried to get to his feet, but his legs would not cooperate. Instead, struggling to a sitting position, he put his body between the Captain and the gun. When was the calvary coming over the hill? Where was Ford, the police, anyone?? He despised having to beg , but he would to save the Captain's life. "Please, leave him alone," he said in the most submissive voice he could muster.   
  


Branson stared at Stark, amazed at what she had done. This wasn't part of their plan. As much as he hated Bridger, he couldn't be responsible for murder. In a puzzled voice, he started tentively, "Marilyn? I know you're angry with Bridger, I am too, but killing him won't bring our sons back. C'mon, sweetie, we have the money. We've made him suffer. Now he knows a little of what it feels like to lose a son." Branson took a step towards Stark.   
  


Lucas let out a small sigh of relief when Stark dropped the gun to her side and turned her attention to Branson. Glancing at Bridger, he saw that the Captain's eyes were open, and he was breathing heavily.   
  


Marilyn put one arm around Branson's waist, pressing her body against his. She moved the hand upward to caress his hair, his shoulder, the back of the neck. "He needs to be punished, Neil; we talked about that." She was cooing at him in a velvet soft voice. "He never paid for the mistakes he made, for taking your family from you. Think about Caroline, how she died of a broken heart after her baby was killed. And think about your other son, Shaun and the depression that overtook him. His suicide was a direct result of Bridger's actions. Remember how miserable you've been, how lonely your life was."   
  


Concentrating on her voice, Branson' face was lined with sadness as he remembered his family. This time he was the one to aim the gun at the two sitting on the ground. "Did your father ever entertain you with war stories? Did he tell you about the Gore, about the people he murdered by his actions?" He asked, bitterly.   
  


Lucas did not like the hatred that had crept back into Branson's voice, the dark look in his eyes. "He's NOT my father!" the teen protested heatedly.   
  


Stark stood in the background, a satisfied smirk on her face.   
  


Laying on the ground, Bridger braced himself against the pain, thinking about his next move. Considering that neither he or Lucas was in any shape to support a strong defensive maneuver, things were not looking good at the moment.   
  


Bravely, Lucas continued his tirade against his kidnapper. "This man here," he pointed to the Captain, "has lost a son and a wife too. It almost destroyed his life too, but he survived and went on. Would your wife want you to kill people for her? Is this what she would want?"   
  


Reaching out, Bridger grabbed Lucas's shoulder, using it to push himself upward. Struggling to his feet, he leaned on the teen, keeping the weight off his bad leg, sucking in air as waves of agony swept over him. In spite of his condition, his voice was firm and commanding. "What did she tell you? What story did she make up?" He took a stab in the dark. "Did she tell you that she lost a son on the Gore?"   
  


He could see that the questions were rattling Branson, who nodded, glancing quickly at Stark. The Captain continued, talking quickly, wondering if Marilyn would stop him or just shoot him again. "She's playing you for a fool, making you do her dirty work for her. She's been calling the police, setting me up to look like the kidnapper. Stark is going to shoot us all, even you, and then make it look like a murder/suicide."   
  


The tension hung thick in the air, as all eyes turned to Stark, who stood there grinning like the Cheshire cat. Staring at her, Branson's mind was turning with a million questions. "Marilyn?" he asked weakly. "Tell me it's not true." Suddenly realizing that he, too, still carried a gun, he aimed it at her. "Is Bridger telling the truth?" he demanded. "Are you....using me, pretending that you love me?" He was starting to lose control, becoming hysterical. The gun wavered in his hand and he steadied.   
  


Marilyn laughed at him, which felt like a punch in the stomach.   
  


"What are you going to do with that thing?" she asked, gesturing at the gun. "Do you actually think that I would give you a loaded weapon?" Her eyes grew cold. "Do you really want to know the truth, Neil? Do you think you can handle the truth? Yes, Bridger is right. I might as well let you in on the secret. It was all a set up, right down to meeting you in the bar. My sole purpose was to lure Bridger out, alone and vulnerable. You were merely a tool." She laughed. "Thanks for doing your part."   
  


She fired and the bullet hit Branson in the chest, throwing him backwards to the ground, where he stayed, unmoving. 

Bridger and Lucas remained still, frozen in shock. "Well, Marilyn, I see you haven't improved your people skills any." Feeling light headed from shock, Bridger startled himself with the joking comment. From the look that Lucas shot him, the teen was also wondering where the humor came from at a time like this. Sinking to the ground, Bridger fumbled for the teen's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Where are you, Jonathan?   
  


"You were always such a wit, Nathan," Stark snapped. "I should cram you into that coffin and let you suffocate. Shooting you is too easy. Let me ask you. Should I kill the boy first and let you grieve about that for awhile? Or would you rather I kill you first, while the boy watches?"   
  


Paling, Lucas cringed at Stark's words, unconsciously taking a tighter grip on Bridger's hand.   
  


"Let the boy go, Marilyn," Bridger urged. "He's done nothing to you, means nothing to you."   
  


"It's not what he means to me, Nathan. It's what he means to you."   
  


"I feel sorry for you, Marilyn." Over Stark's shoulder, he could see Branson struggling to his feet, hand pressed to his abdomen. Waiting to see what the man would do, he continued, hoping to keep Stark distracted. "You have no one willing to die for you. If you were kidnapped, Marilyn, would anyone care? Would anyone go traipsing around the countryside for you? Do you really know what it means to care for another person?"   
  


Lucas gave Bridger a wide - eyed, cynical look. He knew that the Captain would do his best to get them out of this safely but he doubted that insulting your captor was a good move. Perhaps the pressure was getting to the Captain. The injury was clouding his judgement. Then, he too caught the movement behind Stark, and his breath caught in his throat. He deliberately turned his gaze back to Bridger, afraid that he would give Branson away and Stark would know something was up.   
  


The corners of Bridger's mouth turned up slightly as Lucas' bright blue eyes stared at him in surprise and he gave the teen a wink. Hang in there, kid, he thought. We might get out of this yet.   
  


The head of the shovel connected firmly with the back of Stark's head with a loud, satisfying wack. Bridger pulled Lucas down, trying to shield him in case the gun went off as the woman's body crumpled to the ground. The pair looked up to see Branson, breathing heavily, still brandishing the shovel.   
  


"No one makes a fool out of me, Marilyn,"he growled, dropping the shovel on top of the unconscious body. Groaning loudly, he double over, clutching at his bleeding abdomen before wandering crookedly towards the cabin. Using the wall to support himself, he disappeared around the corner of the building.   
  


Feeling like a condemned man who had received a last minute pardon, Bridger gave the teen a giddy grin. "See, I knew I could get you out of this!"   
  


Rolling his eyes, Lucas commented wryly, "Yeah, you're a real savior." Gingerly, he stood up as muscles groaned in protest. "How's your leg?" he asked.   
  


"Well, I won't be doing the tango any time soon." The Captain waved a hand at Stark's body. "We need to either tie her up or get the hell out of Dodge before she wakes up. I don't think she's going to be very happy." He grunted in pain as the teen touched his leg trying to get a good look at the injury.   
  


"Do you think Branson will let us in the cabin or would we be pushing our luck?" Lucas was frustrated. He was exhausted, his surge of adrenalin fading fast. But he knew the Captain was in worse shape, with the blood loss, and knew that they needed to get away from this hell hole while they could still move at all.   
  


Bridger cocked his head, one ear listening to the sky, trying to figure out whether the faint drone he heard was real or only caused by his blood loss and increasing dizziness. He laid back against the dry hard grass. Faintly, he heard Lucas calling his name, the wind swirling around them as the helicopter set down a short distance from them. "About time,"he sighed softly as his eyes closed.   
  


Relief overwhelmed Lucas as he watched Ford and Ortiz jumped out of the helicopter. They were followed by three security men, guns drawn, who took up defensive positions, scouting the area. Lurching forward, the teen trotted wearily towards the officers, shouting, "It's alright! You have to help the Captain! He's injured." Stumbling, he felt Miguel's arm loop around his waist, steadying him. Tears of relief stung his eyes and he blinked several times as he sagged into the safety of Miguel's embrace.   
  


Grabbing the teen's shoulder, Ford studied him intently for a minute, taking in the dirty, pale face, the shirt stained with streaks of blood, the dark circles under the boy's eyes. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?" he asked in a voice tight with concern.   
  


"Yes, yes, I'm fine," the teen answered impatiently. "You have to get the Captain, Stark shot him. That's Stark on the ground. Branson bashed her across the head with a shovel. I don't know where Branson is...he was shot too, but he just wandered off. He's the one who..."   
  


Miguel exchanged a look with Jonathan at Lucas' babbling, patting the teen's shoulder comfortingly. "Shh, shhh. Let's get you settled in the helicopter and the Commander will handle everything. You're safe." 

As Miguel helped the teen over to the helicopter, Ford gestured to the security men and they made their way cautiously over to where the Captain was laying. Placing a hand on Bridger's neck, Ford was relieve to find a pulse, to see the Captain's chest moving.   
  


Stark laid unmoving on the ground, even as Lt. Dillion rolled her over.   
  


Giving the woman a look of distaste, Ford ordered, "Find something to tie her up anyway. Cairnes, take Stacer and check out the cabin." He turned his attention to Bridger, who was starting to stir.   
  


"Lucas?" Bridger mouthed the words silently.   
  


"He's fine," Ford reassured him. "Ortiz has him in the helicopter. Dillion has Stark under control and Cairnes went to check the house. Everything's under control. Now tell me about you. Can we get you into the helicopter or do we need an ambulance?"   
  


"Bullet...thigh..."   
  


The Captain's voice was weak and Ford had to lean in close to hear. He could tell that Bridger was in a lot a pain and it worried him that the Captain was not even attempting the "I'm fine" routine. "Just lay there!" he commanded as he got up to use the helicopter radio to call the local authorities.   
  


A small smile played on Bridger's lips. Jonathan always loved the chance to assume command.   
  


*******   
  


Bridger glanced up at the sound of footsteps and was not surprised to see Dr. Smith headed towards him.   
  


"Hey, there", he greeted Wendy softly, arms crossed in front of him as he leaned against the wall by the mess hall door.   
  


"Again?" she inquired and went on at the Captain's nod. "He woke me from a deep sleep. It must have been really bad one this time."   
  


"Piccolo called me,"Nathan explained simply. "Three times in the last week. Can't you give him anything?" He pulled his robe tighter around him, tying the belt.   
  


"A sedative might be a temporary fix, but it's not a solution. It's going to take time and a lot of support." She gave him a questioning look, trying to touch his mind lightly with her own. "How are you feeling?"   
  


"The leg's feeling a lot better and I can put most of my weight on it now." They both knew that she was not talking about his physical state but that was all he was going to give her. For some reason he couldn't fathom, Lucas did not fault him for his latest run in with Stark but it would take him awhile to absolve himself of his own guilt. Knowing in his mind that he did the best he could was easier than convincing his heart. He was swept away by memories of the last time Stark had taken Lucas and it took all he had not to package the teen up and send him far away to safety.   
  


He silently opened the mess hall door looking towards the solitary figure slumped in a chair at a table on the far side of the room. Frowning, he turned to Wendy. "Could you leave us alone?" Without waiting for a reply, he made his way to the table, and laid a gentle hand on the teen's shoulder, who went rigid at the touch.   
  


"Hi kiddo. Another nightmare." It was a statement, not a question.   
  


Lucas sniffed a few times, trying to stop the tears as the Captain's hands made comforting small circles on his back. His hands were still trembling as he replayed the details of the dreams in his mind. Back in the box, he saw himself running out of air, clawing at his throat, trying to breathe...a small shudder ran down his back as he shoved the scenes away. "Will they ever stop?" he asked in a small voice, "Will I ever be able to close my eyes again and just sleep?"   
  


Reaching out to pull out a chair, Nathan sat next to the boy, and wrapped his arm around the boy, pulling him close. Feeling helpless, there was nothing he could say. Being there was all he could offer. He hoped it would be enough.   
  
  
  


****   
  


Two Months later   
  


Sitting in front of his computer in nervous anticipation, Lucas eagerly answered the whistle indicating an incoming call. "Hi Julianna!"   
  


Studying Lucas for a minute, a slow smile spread across Julianna's face. The haunted look that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on Lucas' face was gone, replaced with the sparkling intelligence that people associated with the teen. "Things are better?"   
  


:Lucas blushed, looking down to make a close inspection of his fingers. The last time they had talked, it had been 2 in the morning and Lucas had been an emotional disaster site. He had blocked most it, but he knew that crying, on both sides, had been involved. "The Captain's really helped me. He always seems to know when I need something and he's practically ordered the crew not to treat me like a piece of fragile china." A warm feeling was spreading inside of him as he remembered all the nights the Captain had been there to hold him after the nightmare ended. The bond between them had grown stronger than ever. "God, Julianna, do you know how much he did for me? My own father..." He broke off, not wanting to think about the fact that his father, after Bridger had called him, had never called back. He peered intently into the screen. "How are you feeling?"   
  


"Much better. The drugs finally cleared out of my system and my memory is back 95%. I still don't remember everything from that night but my mother says that's probably for the best. Did you find out what happened to...," she hesitated for a minute trying to think of the names, "Stark and um, Branson?"   
  


"Stark, she's still in the prison hospital with a fractured skull." He hated saying the name, thinking about that bitch. "I hope she stays there till she rots. Branson, he's in the UEO psychiatric hospital for evaluation and therapy. The Captain's gone to visit him a few times, trying to help him." He didn't add about Bridger's depressed state when ever he came back from these sessions. He knew that the Captain still felt a lot of guilt over what had happened even though he had told Bridger repeatedly that it was not his fault. The Captain had asked several times if he wanted to leave the seaQuest and he kept telling Bridger that this was his home, that this was where he wanted to be. There was no way he was going to let Stark ruin everything. Leaning back in his chair, he yawned and stretched, and grabbed for the chocolate bar sitting there. He hadn't felt this good for months.   
  


"So, Julianna...do you ever think you'll want to go on another date with me?"   
  


***End   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


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